


Winner Gives All

by jane_potter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Bondage, Fight Sex, Fingerfucking, Handcuffs, Kink Meme, Knotting, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_potter/pseuds/jane_potter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean and Sam fight to see who tops, sometimes the fight's almost as good as the sex. Shameless PWP for a kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winner Gives All

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Anon at the take_the_knot [comment fic meme](http://take-the-knot.livejournal.com/5109.html). S/he asked for "the boys fighting to top (both can either give or take a knot). Lots of foreplay, biting, manhandling!" Lo, so it is.
> 
> Assume this takes place in the usual SPN universe, except where dudes have knots. So... it's a thinly-veiled excuse to indulge my size kink.
> 
> Also I spent 8 hours writing this the day before a final exam. That's just how I roll. :D

"Ow, son of a bitch!"

"Don't be a baby."

"The hell are you doing, whacking my head on the table like that? That thing has corners, man!"

"You didn't even come close to hitting the side table, Dean. I didn't throw you that hard."

Beneath Sam, Dean squirms against the bed, struggling to gain purchase on the slippery polyester duvet. Sam grins breathlessly and holds Dean's wrists down harder, the bitch. Dean's biceps bulge as he struggles to push Sam up and off.

Grunting with strain, Dean says, "Yeah, well, that's enough of that shit. Get your Sasquatch ass off me, Sam."

"What, now that I've got you pinned?" Sam shifts his position and somehow manages to add an extra thirty pounds to his body weight as he flops down on top of Dean, crushing the breath out of him. "Can't get out of it on your own, Dean?"

Dean curses and pushes back again, jarring Sam, who laughs even though he's panting with exertion, too. He's got his head tucked in the crook of Dean's neck, licking Dean's throat and jaw with big, spitty, messy strokes.

"Gonna fuck you so hard," Dean growls, hooks a leg around Sam's and manages to leverage himself over. He grins when Sam's stupid hair flops everywhere, leaving him blind for the few seconds it takes Dean to wrestle Sam all the way back down to the mattress. " _Bitch_."

But Sam has arms like a friggin' _ape_ , which is totally not fair, and he flips them over again. Dean twists their legs together, glad that Sam tackled him right out of the shower because this would be a lot less fun in muddy jeans, and for a while they twist back and forth, shoving at each other's shoulders, struggling to get enough leverage to go either way. The duvet slips and slides beneath them, almost sending them right off the bed until Sam rolls free long enough to kick the damn thing the rest of the way onto the floor.

Triumphant, Dean launches himself at Sam, latching on with his hands and legs and teeth in Sam's shoulder. Sam yells-- loudly, but they're at the end of a dog's leg in a shitty motel in the Minnesota woods, and they've got free lodging for killing the Wendigo that was preying on motel guests (which means that they're about the only guests still there, too). Teeth full of the sweat-salty muscle of Sam's shoulder, Dean snickers as his brother flails.

" _Jesus_ , Sam!" Dean's head pops up, shocked. "What are you, a friggin' cannibal?"

Sam throws him over on his back again ( _shit_ ) and the bed is fucking ruined. Grinning, Sam lets go of Dean's neck with a wet sucking sound, leaving a bigass swollen mark that feels like it must be the size of Texas.

"You can dish it out, but you just can't take it," Same taunts. Dean would knee him in the gut, but that's when Sam grabs his cock none too gently (but it's fucking perfect) and Dean's leg sort of kicks out sideways instead, opening up for it. "I'll make you take it, Dean. You can take my cock all the way to the knot, can't you? Take it all and love it."

Dean huffs. "Sam, do us both a favour and don't try to talk dirty. Besides--"

He bucks up suddenly, thrashing hard enough to scrabble out from under Sam and toward the head of the bed, reaching for the headboard for leverage, but Sam grabs his outstretched wrist and comes crashing down on Dean again. The antique wooden frame jolts, screeches against the floorboards.

"--I'm totally gonna top," Dean finishes in a winded grunt, fingertips curled around one slat of the headboard. He's crushed underneath Sam, covered completely by a hundred and sixty pounds of muscle and all that skin, Sam's heart pounding up against Dean's where their chests heave together. His entire body's full of heat; sweat beads on his forehead.

"Really?" Sam asks, bright eyed, panting aggression and excitement and amusement into Dean's face, only inches away.

Dean slaps the handcuffs around Sam's wrist. It takes him a few seconds to realise he's now attached to the headboard, and the expression on his face is priceless.

"Yeah," Dean says smugly.

Sam growls and tries to smother him, and Dean laughs and gets a fist between them around Sam's cock and bites his shoulders over and over again, leaving dark pink marks all over Sam's deltoids and trapezius. When Sam groans, hips humping helplessly down, Dean makes a fist in Sam's hair and pulls it back so that Sam's throat strains tight, Sam breathing raggedly and staring down at him with intense, half-manic eyes, the kind of eyes Dean's seen when Sam's staring up at something that's gonna kill him, and _fuck_ that shouldn't be so hot, that he gets Sam as keyed up as a life or death situation does.

"Yeah," Dean says, voice grating unexpectedly, "gonna get my knot all the way up in that ass and fuck you through the goddamn floor, Sammy."

"You wish," pants Sam, face twitching as he fights to regain control. But his cock jerks in Dean's hand, pulsing as it fills even more-- not just hardening, but thickening as the knot at Sam's base starts to grow.

Dean chuckles, smears a messy kiss into Sam's mouth and pours himself into it until Sam moans, filthy and open-mouthed. Between the knot still filling in his slowly jerking hand and the clash of tongue and teeth that's as dirty as Dean can make it, Dean manages to roll Sam over without much fuss. The handcuff chain twists enough that Sam can end up on his back, angled partially across the bed but more or less in place. Where the fuck the pillows have gone, though, Dean doesn't know.

Sam's mouth is wet and red when Dean pulls back, sits up, hanging open as Sam gasps hugely for breath. "That's it, Sammy," Dean says smugly, petting the hair back from Sam's forehead. "Good boy. Now open wide and say _ohhh_."

Sam nearly throws him right off the bed, his whole body twisting and flexing in an arc that would make Dean go _holy shit,_ nice _one, Sammy_ if he weren't falling ass over teakettle on the mattress. He catches himself before he hits the floor (as it is, he knocks the tacky lamp off the side table) and lunges back on top of Sam before Sam's had more than a few seconds to scrabble at the cuff with his free hand.

"Make me," Sam challenges, his eyes flashing with something that's three parts brattiness and one part arrogance and one part begging.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Always gotta do things the hard way."

"You always ease up on a hold once you start taunting me," Sam retorts, tongue darting out to lick his lips in anxious excitement. "You'd think after twenty years, you'd learn better."

"I let you," Dean asserts, straddling Sam's hips and grabbing his cock again, because that seems to keep the guy quiet.

Sam yelps, his struggle turning into a shuddering writhe as Dean thumbs his slit with one hand and cups his knot with the other, squeezing just a _little_. It figures Sam would have a freakishly big knot, too, even if his junk's otherwise normally sized. As it is, his knot fills Dean's palm entirely, a bit bigger than a tennis ball, which-- yeah, he's not getting that in Dean's ass now that it's hard. Dean strokes it again, gun calluses scraping the sensitive skin.

"Dean, fuck," Sam complains, in a tone that's less _fuck you_ and a lot more _desperately losing my cool_ but trying not to let Dean know it.

"Yeah, okay, hold your horses," chuckles Dean, and his slow, groping squeeze of the knot makes Sam twist and writhe for long enough for him to lean off the bed and snag the lube from his bag on the floor, half covered by the duvet. And hey, there's a pillow-- Dean grabs it and tosses it onto the bed, too.

"Roll over," he says, half joking.

Sam narrows his eyes, which is what Dean was really hoping he'd do, because it means that Dean has to pre-empt the bitchfit by throwing himself down on Sam and grabbing greedy handfuls of his hair and tongue-fucking the everliving Christ out of Sam's mouth. Sam's free hand scrabbles momentarily and then comes to clutch the back of Dean's neck even as their bodies do a fantastic, bucking slip-slide together, all kicking knees and flexing thighs trying to wedge in an advantageous place, shoving and surging together like animals. The sound of their panting and grunting is loud, and the air in the room is close and stifling, late-August hot and hotter still with sex.

Finally, by virtue of the fact that Dean's still got a hand on Sam's dick, he gets Sam rolled back over onto his front, face buried in the mattress and hair sticking everywhere. Just like that, Sam goes limp with exhaustion, heaving like some great beast, the muscles of his back shining with sweat and his limbs flopped out like he's sloppy-drunk and inexplicably sixteen again.

 _Contrary bitch_ , Dean thinks, amazed and pissed. He's panting and keyed-up and extraordinarily turned on, practically hard enough to _pound nails_ with his cock, and-- he looks down at his crotch, at the length of his dick snugged along Sam's crack, tight between his asscheeks-- and he's damn near knotted already, the bulge at his base halfway swollen to fullness.

Sam squints at Dean from over his shoulder, cheek pressed into the sheets and mouth open, panting. "Not stuck, are you?"

"Dammit, Sam," Dean snaps, putting his hands on Sam's shoulders to make damn sure he stays down, "now I'm knotted. The hell am I supposed to do now, bitch?"

"Deserve it, jerk," Sam mutters, his smirk squished against the mattress.

He doesn't seem inclined to fight anymore, smug and lazy and content to sprawl there and smirk now that Dean's in a fix, too. Dean scowls and shoves the pillow roughly under Sam's hips, but after his initial start of surprise Sam relaxes again, rocks his hips into it a few times.

Dean slaps his ass. "You are so in for it," he warns over the sound of Sam's complaints, opening the lube. "I'm gonna fuck you anyway."

"Yeah?" Sam asks, breathless.

"Yeah," Dean promises, his voice almost savage but his fingers nothing but strong and sure and confident as he slides two into Sam's hole, a long slick push that makes Sam groan like a dying thing. "Like that, don't you. Know how much you want this. Y'open right up for me, Sammy, just like that. Yeah."

Even though Sam hates it-- hell, mostly because Sam hates it-- Dean gives up fucking around with the tube and just squirts a long stream of lube onto and around the fingers he's got buried halfway in Sam, chucks the tube away. Spillage glistens wetly around Sam's hole and on his asscheeks. Sam makes a noise of protest as some drips down his balls, but then Dean shoves his fingers in the rest of the way and Sam melts again, moaning.

"Don't get too carried away," warns Dean, fucking in and out once, slowly. "We're here until my friggin' knot goes down enough, thanks to you."

"Okay," Sam agrees weakly.

He gets down on his elbows and gets to work. For a while he enjoys groping Sam's ass as he fingers him, smearing the lube all over and massaging Sam's asscheeks with his free hand, smacking them gently because the obscene noise of it has _got_ to be pissing Sam off.

He leans down and bites the dimple of one side, making Sam's hole clench around his fingers. Pleased by the reaction, Dean applies his teeth to the other dimpled muscle, slower and harder and longer, until Sam's whole body is tense and he sucks in a sharp warning gasp. When Dean suddenly lets go, the white marks of his teeth stand out starkly for a moment and then rush to fill in with red, leaving a bright swollen ring.

Still thrusting and twisting his fingers inside of Sam, Dean bites his way up Sam's back with brutal, torturous patience: a bite to the swell of muscle on either side of Sam's spine, and one more on the thinner skin of each side, and then again right above that, and again... Knowing Sam, the freak, he's as much turned on by the methodical precision of each bite as by the sharp sting of Dean's teeth and hot, duller ache left behind after. Each bite makes Sam writhe and try to clench tight around Dean's fingers, moaning occasionally when Dean scissors his fingers wide at the same time. It leaves a trail of abused pink flesh all the way up Sam's back, flushed and close to bruising already.

Trying to be subtle about it, Dean nuzzles into the long hair at the Sam's nape, which is sticking to his sweaty neck and curling damply. He breathes heavily, hot down Sam's back, and Sam shivers. A series of long, sucking bites leaves the upper plane of Sam's Sasquatch shoulders spit-shiny in the lamplight.

By the time Dean's done raking his teeth across the last one, Sam's practically _gone_ , panting with his mouth wide open and his eyes shut, rocking his hips mindlessly back and forth against Dean's fingers. His hole spreads like friggin' butter. Unsteadily, Dean sits up again and looks down to watch Sam's ass open for his spreading fingers, shiny and pink and trembling just slightly. It's unexpectedly hard to breathe.

"Christ, Sammy," he says raggedly. He smears another kiss over Sam's shoulder blade, something half bite and all tongue. "So goddamn good."

"Dean, for god's sake, do it already," Sam groans, lifting one knee higher on the bed. He pushes his ass up against Dean's hand, shoving back all the way to the knuckle.

"But-- I'm not--" Dean looks helplessly at his dick, which is maybe only halfway knotted but not all the way down. "Oh, fuck it," he mutters, because yeah, like he was really ever going to get his knot down while Sam was cuffed naked to the bed in front of him.

He tugs Sam's leg just a bit higher, lining himself up with one unsteady hand. Sam bucks unexpectedly when Dean hesitates, and the long, slow push he'd planned turned into a sudden sharp _shove_. If it makes Dean want to yell with how fucking _intense_ it feels, he can't imagine how it is for Sam, but Sam's full-body writhe and scream that ends on a sob makes it clear.

"Sam," Dean says urgently, grabbing Sam's hip and stopping even though it takes a force of will that makes his balls scream, "Sam, Sammy--"

" _Dean_ ," is all Sam manages, absolutely wrecked, and that's when Dean realises it was a _good_ noise. "Go. Go, fuck, _now_."

The rest of his cock goes in slower, the slide of it dragged out until his knot pushes up against the tight muscle of Sam's hole. Dean moans, but Sam does too, so that's okay. Just like that, his knot's hard again, full and throbbing and totally point of no return, but Dean can't even give a shit at the moment, he's a little preoccupied with the hot clutch of Sam's body around the rest of his cock.

"Gonna make you scream," Dean vows, making his first thrust as slow as he can. Then he remembers he's not supposed to be making love to Sam, so he lets his hips pick up the sharper, faster rhythm they desperately want to. "Make you beg for it, Sam."

"Yeah right," Sam mutters, but it's slurred and he's fisting the sheets with his free hand as he just _takes_ it, spread out and bruise-bitten and better than fresh cherry pie on a shit-hot fork.

Over the noise of the mattress squeaking and the bed groaning with each thrust, Dean hears Sam's breath hitch every time his knot rams up against Sam's hole, fat and hot and blunt, too big to get in but a reminder each time that there's _more_ of Dean to take, if only he could. Dean growls and fucks Sam harder, spurred on by the thought of it.

And then, he thinks-- because no matter what Sam says, the ideas Dean gets in the heat of the moment are _awesome_ , thanks-- he thinks, _Why not_?

Sam makes a whiny sound when Dean slows down again, shifting his hips restlessly.

"Easy, Sam," Dean mutters, mouthing an especially swollen bite mark on Sam's shoulder. "Relax. C'mon, ease up. Yeah, like that." He takes a shaky breath, grabbing Sam's hips tight with both hands and sliding slowly in as far as he can, until he feels the resistance of Sam's tight hole against his knot.

"Gonna get it in you, Sam," he says, mouth running on autopilot as he keeps pushing-- pushing-- _in_ , little by little, not really moving anywhere yet but just putting _pressure_ on Sam's hole, more and more of it so slowly that it makes his balls throb just thinking about it.

Sam makes a soft gasping sound, sucking for air as Dean forces his way inexorably inward, the bulge of his knot starting to open Sam up through sheer blunt pressure. A jolting clench shakes Sam's body, and Dean takes that as his cue to back off for a bit, leaving Sam shaking noticeably.

"Oh god," Sam mumbles, sounding like he's hiding his face against the mattress.

"Gonna get my knot in you," Dean promises, rocking back in for another long push. "All of it, Sammy. You want that? Stretched all that way, open for me? So fucking _tight_."

The noise Sam makes is incoherent, but Dean feels the first real give of his hole, his knot gaining fractional depth in Sam's ass, and _fuck_ but it's good, it's better than getting knotted the usual way.

Very suddenly, Sam bursts out, "Dean, I can't," sounding like it hurts him to say it.

"Yeah you can," Dean says, smoothing a shaking hand down Sam's side, "you can take it, Sammy, you can--"

"I can't wait," Sam blurts raggedly, twitching his hips in desperate illustration. "Fuck, Dean, just let me come, I can't--"

"No. No, not yet." Dean drives in a little more sharply that time, thinking a bit of a sting might take the edge off. "Okay, Sammy? Not-- not yet." And he's really got no reason for saying so except that the idea of Sam waiting on his word is fucking incendiary. So he digs his nails into Sam's hip and Sam makes a tight, unhappy, needy noise but subsides against the mattress, and Dean feels something like a god.

Sam squirms and shudders, making open-mouthed cries into the mattress as he gives it up bit by bit, and Dean moves the slowest he's ever moved, driving them both damn near part the point of insanity one thrust at a time. Sam's body opens like something raw and unripe, clutching and trembling the whole way. It has to hurt, has to burn like a motherfucker, but Dean knows his brother and he knows that Sam would _say_ something if he was really being hurt, whether it was by Dean or not.

If Dean looks-- and he only looks once, because the sight almost has him shooting his load right then and there-- he sees Sam's hole stretched open wider than it's ever been, tight and pink around the slippery bulge of his knot. He's not quite to the biggest part of his knot and he doesn't have a clue how the fuck Sam's going to take the rest, but goddammit, he will.

"God, Sammy, almost there. Halfway in."

Desperate for something to hang onto, Dean reaches up and hooks two fingers in the slack gasp of Sam's mouth, pulling his jaw open wider. Sam seems to appreciate it, or maybe he's just so far gone that he's reacting to everything, because he moans in response, letting Dean's fingers curl over his teeth and tongue for a bit.

Gritting his teeth, Dean pulls out and starts another thrust, determined to get it in before they both blow. Sam's hole opens easier for the first swell of the knot, fucked loose by what he hadn't been able to even stretch for in the beginning. Fresh sweat springs out on Dean's skin, suddenly cold in the suffocating heat of the room, and he breaches Sam to the widest part of his knot, feels tightness and then resistance.

Tension trembles in Sam's core, in his spine and shoulders and the bunched muscle of his spread thighs. As Dean sinks deeper, feeling like every gasp is a blast of furnace-dry air, he feels Sam's hole fluttering and spasming desperately around him, unable to relax because it's so fucking _sensitive_ and Sam's _there_ , right there, breath coming in a constant string of needy whimpers; Dean can tell how close to the edge he is. All it takes, then, is one last shift of his hips, and suddenly they're over the hill, the biggest part of his knot popped into Sam's hole so abruptly that Sam cries out in what sounds like pure shock, wide eyed and shaking violently.

" _Yes_ ," Dean growls, digging his fingers into Sam's hips so hard that he's going to leave bruises. "Fuck, Sam, like that, fucking. Fucking awesome. Like that, bitch, that's _it_..."

For all that Sam has been tied with Dean before, his body doesn't seem able to take Dean's whole cock right now. The whole of his knot's not in yet; Sam's rim clutches at the swell of it, so fucking tight that he'd be forcing the knot back out if he could stretch around the widest part again. It's the work of a few shallow, rocking thrusts to sink all the way in, Sam slick and spasming around him, and Dean lets out a loud groan as he finally bottoms out.

Sam doesn't last more than three seconds once Dean's inside him, finally losing the last shreds of tenuous control he'd been clinging to as he fought to stay relaxed while Dean stretched him wide. When he goes over the ragged edge, that’s it, he’s fucking _gone_. Sam's whole body seizes up, going completely rigid, his hole clenching around Dean’s girth, and with a loud, wrecked yell, he comes all over the mattress beneath them, his cock untouched.

"Holy shit," Dean breathes, eyes wide. He wraps one arm tight around Sam's waist, slides the other hand underneath Sam and jerks his cock through the long, rocky aftershocks. Come spurts over his hand again, slicking the loose stroke of Dean's fist all the way down to the Sam's tight, swollen knot. Through it all, Sam keeps gasping and stuttering incoherent noises, shaking like he's just run a four-minute mile. It's a long time until he finally quiets, limp and sweaty and fucked out and bliss-heavy underneath Dean.

"So," Dean asks casually, a grin on his face that Sam would probably punch if he had the energy to do more than, like, keep breathing, "was it good for you?"


End file.
